


Of old Fires

by mangacrack



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Allusions of Slash, First Age, Gen, M/M, Male Slash, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning there was... well, let us first assume there was a beginning at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of old Fires

  
Long black hair is lashing with the wind, blazing eyes fixed on a enemy far away. Strong hands grip the blade tight, the yaw is clenching, before the tall figure steps back and melds with the shadows.

Then he turns and looks at me.

His eyes reflect nothing, not the camp fires nor the stars above us. They never have.  
The others say he probably walked right out of the womb from Mother Darkness.

I asked him if it were true, but he just laughed and said he would tell me one day.

Now his eyes are telling me that I will probably never know the truth.

"We cannot stay here," my elder brother says. "It's not safe. Awake the others."

"I will."

"Tell them only take what they can carry on their body. Personal belongings only. Anything else is left behind."

I nod and ask the question to the answer I do not want to hear.

"What will you do?"

My brother looks at me with his sad dark eyes. He has always been quiet, harsh and protective. He cloaked himself with shadows to shield himself. I usually slept in his arms, since it always as been the safest placed I could remember.

"Face our persecutors," my brother whispers.

"Brother,..."

It will be his end, I think. But I fail to voice my thoughts.

Of course my brother knows anyway.   

"Don't be afraid. You will lead the others to safety. They speak of a place, where one can raise children in safety. You will find it," he reassures me, avoiding the answer what he intends to do completely.

Before he rises, my brothers arms embrace me. His presence engulfs me, I'm deeply wrapped in his warmth, his fiercy love for me. For a moment he trembles and I know he's sorry. But before I can say something, anything at all he gone, leaving me to cower beneath the trees.

I watch how he disappears. I wish to cry, but can I mourn when my brother isn't even dead yet?  
No, perhaps I will only mourn the fact that I'm to young to accompany him.

I'm still a child and much time will pass before I even think about reaching my brother's height.

Now he returns, perched on his horse. Our eyes met for a final time, his burning darkness marking my soul forever, then my brother speaks his farewell.

He has always been my ideal, my vision of the elvish archetype and my beloved brother, but he never told me something to do, without giving me the option to refuse. Until now.  

The sound of his voice makes my body tremble, willing it to obey him and leaving no room for resistance.

"Run, Finwë. Run," he says.

After he has given his command, my brother disappears in the darkness, never to be seen again.

-

Years later I will realize my brother only said _run_ , but never _stay gone_.

Fëanor will never know about his uncle. Nor will my other children.

But it is my eldest especially who I don't want to know. It is too dangerous.  
They are too alike, my brother and my son.

Fëanor would want to search for him. A trace would be enough for him, a single whisper could drive him of Valinor. He is restless enough for it and his sons follow him where ever he rides.  

Seldom they live in a solid house, made of strong walls and sleep in safe beds. They prefer tents, the stars and their horses, ready to leave every moment.

I wonder, I truly wonder what kind of vision Míriel had, when she named her son. I often forget that she was one of the few who knew I had a brother at all.

One of the few, who knew his name.

Nárwe.

  


**Author's Note:**

> _I hope, I got the name right? I used a Quenya to English list, so please tell me if Nárwe's name is wrong._
> 
>  
> 
> _For his existance: I doubt Finwe and the other "first elves" simple appeared on the face of earth. Perhaps they simply cannot remember the beginning. Or don't want to. In Finwe's case, he mourns his brother. Because he needed one._
> 
>  
> 
> _I mean, so many Noldor with silbings and he hasn't any? This needed to get fixed._


End file.
